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Aug. 16th, 2004 10:54 pmAt the End, a drabble, rated G
His curls are crusted with blood, filth, and sweat and yet they’re soft. He wraps his frail arms around me, begging pardon with no words for taking me away from home and Rosie. I can’t stop my weeping over it, here at the end, but I clasp his bloody hand, shielding it from the ash and stench of Mordor, as if it matters now whether the wound gets rancid. He closes his eyes, and in spite of the hissing rocks and spraying lava, his face is luminous, utterly peaceful – and I finally get it, the evil of that thing we destroyed.
His curls are crusted with blood, filth, and sweat and yet they’re soft. He wraps his frail arms around me, begging pardon with no words for taking me away from home and Rosie. I can’t stop my weeping over it, here at the end, but I clasp his bloody hand, shielding it from the ash and stench of Mordor, as if it matters now whether the wound gets rancid. He closes his eyes, and in spite of the hissing rocks and spraying lava, his face is luminous, utterly peaceful – and I finally get it, the evil of that thing we destroyed.